<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Peace and Quiet by SlipScout</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972019">Peace and Quiet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlipScout/pseuds/SlipScout'>SlipScout</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Epithet Erased Zine Pieces [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Epithet Erased (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(a small bit of comfort), Almost No Dialogue, Angst, Fluff(but only a little. Miniscule really), Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mera Salamin-centric, Mera is HURTING and she WANTS IT TO STOP, Mera’s thoughts pre-museum arc and during, ee zine, eezine, epithet erased zine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:41:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972019</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlipScout/pseuds/SlipScout</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mera wants it to stop. The pain, the needles under her skin, the fragility of it all.</p><p>She finds Indus, then the Arsene Amulet. </p><p>The thoughts swirl and flicker around her head as she tries to obtain what she’s longed for years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mera Salamin &amp; Indus Tarbella</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Epithet Erased Zine Pieces [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Peace and Quiet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my Mera piece for the Epithet Erased Zine(eezine)! As the first piece I wrote, I really enjoyed re-reading this one as I edited! I hope you enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> You’re fragile</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Those words struck her upside the head, sucking the breath from her lungs. Those words forced her to live her life in constant pain, fueled only by headache medicine and spite. That word, her <em> Epithet</em>.</p><p> </p><p>This wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to sit alone on her bed, too afraid to stand without tripping, furniture covered with rubber and all corners filed down. She didn’t want to be bedridden, for a too-strong shake of a hand or a bump on the arm to spell broken wrists and dislocated shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Her parents asked the doctors if there was anything they could do to stop the headaches, to lessen the pain. There wasn’t a cure for her, the doctors had said. But, if she learns to control her Epithet, she’d get stronger. She wouldn’t be so quick to break.</p><p> </p><p>So Mera trained and researched and broke more bones and swallowed more pills. She struggled and fought and wrapped her hands in bandages and her legs in braces. Each day she sat up in bed was another day she lived to see her Epithet become stronger.</p><p> </p><p>It backfired. Horribly.</p><p> </p><p>All those months of training, those hours wasted and days of taping herself together was for what? <em> Nothing. </em> No, it was worse than nothing, Mera scowled. While she was able to create little glass shards and ice skates, there wasn’t a point to use her newfound skills. Every time she tripped, it meant broken kneecaps and sprained wrists. Her entire body was on the verge of chipping most days.</p><p> </p><p><em> What was the point of it all? </em> Mera unwrapped her wrist, careful and delicate. She was stealing everyone else’s time, hoarding it for herself under hospital visits and profusely bleeding noses. Every second her parents spent with her, they lost work hours and vacation days. Every minute they comforted her was another fight behind closed doors. Hours would tick by before her mother would call for dinner, helping Mera down the stairs. Hours, minutes, seconds better off with important tasks rather than… her.</p><p> </p><p>She swallowed another pill, her thoughts swirling in her head.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You’re fragile! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Those words weren’t as sharp now, cracked and dulled by the years, worn down like a sharp knife. Indus Tarbella, now with a few more scratches and bruises, finished splinting her leg. His once-booming voice was now a little hoarser, weaving through the hot sand of Desert Country like a snake.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not <em> fragile,” </em> she snapped back, and in spite of her very broken leg, moved to stand. Her body decided it’d rather be on the ground before Indus steadied her. They were to the point where they had to lean on each other to stand, Mera borrowing — <em> taking, stealing </em> <em> — </em>his energy to fuel her own during their brawl.</p><p> </p><p>Mera hated to admit it, but Indus was good company compared to the cold nights of Taiga Country. He was as loyal and chivalrous as the eye could see, not to mention <em> incomparably </em> stupid. How he even managed to breathe was a mystery.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, despite being as dumb as the stove in their newly-rented flat, he refused to take the only bed. She couldn’t argue with that. She hurt herself more often than Indus did. Sometimes, she woke up with bruises from where she shifted too much in the night.</p><p> </p><p>Night saw Mera huddled under as many pillows and blankets the two could find. She sat underneath the covers, chewing on a pencil while studying a rather thick book on Epithets and what they were capable of.</p><p> </p><p>A whisper of a footnote shot icicles through her veins, midnight bells tolling in the distance. The Arsene Amulet, she read, soaking every letter in, was a necklace capable of taking and storing another Epithet inside of it. The only one of its kind known in history. She knew Epithets could be transcribed into objects. There were very few people that she had met that could imbue their Epithets into other people or items. To maintain it for years, though? Unheard of. She tapped the pencil to her mouth, rereading the page. This could help her. If she could find the right Epithet, she’d be pain free! No more medication and doctor bills or casts and braces.</p><p> </p><p>Mera carefully left the bed, flicking on the apartment lights and shaking awake a snoring Indus. The Arsene Amulet was a travelling phenomenon, brought across the world, guided into museum hands and treated with delicacy. It was to be retired and set in a specific museum, one known for its large history of Epithets.</p><p> </p><p>The Sweet Jazz City Museum.</p><p> </p><p>It was too perfect, she had said, Indus rubbing his eye right beside her. All they had to do was get a job at the museum and grab the artifact before anyone else could. It’d have to be a long-term heist, though. The museum was home to many pieces. Each one of them, Mera explained, well…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They’re fragile. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mera blinked and turned back to the museum director.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re fragile,” he repeated, taking an artifact from the storage crate and placing it into Mera’s hands. “So please treat them how you’d treat yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>Her hands closed around the piece. It’d been horrid, <em> long </em> months of building up their trust with the museum staff. Indus was immediately transferred to the storeroom upon employment, carrying and storing many of the new shipments and rotating displays. It was <em> something </em> he was good at, and provided Mera a way to snag the Arsene Amulet without prying eyes.</p><p> </p><p>The necklace had been shipped in from Deepwood Country last night, an obscene amount of paperwork alongside it. She was one step closer to throwing out her medicine.</p><p> </p><p>But for now, she had been slated to guide a school trip through the museum. Mera placed the piece in its display case and straightened it before promising the director to be careful. She hummed, walking toward the museum entrance. The plan was perfect. They’d be in and out before midnight.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It should have been easy. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mera scrunched her nose, lifting the kid up and watching him claw against her hold. A little energy goes a long way, and after all, she <em> was </em> here to steal. Sylvie’s stamina flowed through her arm, her bones on the edge of shattering, her muscles rearing their burning heads. With a hint of glee, she threw him into a pile of crates, watching his face as it contorted with pain. <em> Now </em> he gets it. She slammed her foot into his face, and he cried hoarsely, his cheek coated with blood.</p><p> </p><p>How does he feel, Mera wondered? Was it a fraction of what she felt every day? He never reopened old wounds, never added new ones. He didn’t feel the pain quite like she did, with every movement bringing needles of pain that dug into her nerves. She couldn’t breathe without her ribs groaning, so how <em> bad </em> could it be for this brat?</p><p> </p><p>Her blood rushed around her ears, thumping away as a drumline to her power. “You know what, kid? All I’ve ever done was steal, my whole life. And then,” Mera laughed, curling a hand above her head. “And <em> then </em>, I found this amulet, so I decided to lean into it. Here. Let me show you.”</p><p> </p><p>Mera reached out with a glowing hand, fingers brushing against Sylvie’s collar before he pulled himself up, knees buckling under him. Dust billowed away from him as he screamed, his eyes flicking wildly around the room. Dust billowed away from him, and he shifted his stance, raising his head high.</p><p> </p><p>And passed out.</p><p> </p><p>Mera walked away from the kid, laughing through gulps of air. What a weenie! She did this every day! He didn’t have it <em> half </em> as bad as her!</p><p> </p><p>A roar from behind sent frozen adrenaline through her heart. A minotaur stood and snorted, dipping his head to reveal a pair of shiny, bone-white horns. How lovely. Mera was about to get shanked by this brat’s imaginary friend. It was even wearing a lab coat and a kilt! Even better!</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie’s minotaur stomped forward, throwing her up into the air and into a pile of crates. Her shoulder popped sickeningly. Mera slammed her hand onto the concrete floor, crying out as her arm began to ache. Several walls of glass shards were pulled upward, the minotaur bellowing over the rumbling of the earth. He crashed through the shards, shredding them with his horns.</p><p> </p><p>No, <em> no no no no! </em></p><p> </p><p>She began shrieking, cursing everything since the day she was born. With an Epithet like hers, defense didn’t bode well. Everything she taught herself were offensive attacks, quick and sharp. Her only defense was torn apart like it was paper. Mera twisted her neck, flicking her eyes between the minotaur and the wall behind her.</p><p> </p><p>It’d hurt.</p><p> </p><p>It’d also be something she could get over. Mera hesitated for a moment, then jammed her hand into the wall, breaking her fingers. Her eyes followed the cracks in the ceiling, forcing it to encircle the minotaur. She yelled over the crackle of plaster, voice pitched high with fear. A ventilation shaft came tumbling down onto the minotaur, a button-eyed kid popping out with it.</p><p> </p><p>No, wait, <em> the </em> button-eyed kid. That girl, the one with <em> the </em>Epithet.</p><p> </p><p>She was <em> so close </em>. One touch, one grasp, and she could get the Epithet. It’d heal her. She wouldn’t wake up with bruises from her bedframe or broken toes from knocking into her dresser. The thought of being able to cut her hospital bills in half made tears well up in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie's hand grasped her ankle, eying Mera weakly. A frustrated cry tore away from her throat. She wrenched him up by the collar as he yelped, prying at her hand as it began to glow orange. The amulet drummed into her chest, pulling his epithet away from his body. It snaked up her arm, settling in the gem with a satisfied hiss. She tossed him to the side, closing the distance between her and Molly.</p><p> </p><p>Blue flames sprung up around them, licking the crates and dancing along to the beat of Mera’s heart. The strain of the night left her heart pounding its way into her skull. Broken fingers reached toward Molly, the flames warming her skin. The girl called out, and Mera’s voice responded. The blood in her ears thumped louder. Something about Indus, and the police. <em> Too late. </em> He was free labor. He was nice company, though. Mera supposed she could break him out after she was done.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Is it so wrong, Mera wondered, to take the Epithet of some little girl, one she hardly knew? Was it wrong to stop the pain?</p><p> </p><p>Was it?</p><p> </p><p>The beat of the drum inside her chest grew louder, the green glow of the amulet encasing her vision. No, Mera decided. It wasn’t wrong. She’d be free. That’s all that matters. The answer was right here. All she had to do was grab it<em> . </em> Mera’s voice kept talking, delightedly watching the fear fill the girl's face.</p><p> </p><p>Mera grabbed Molly’s jacket, laughing hysterically. The flames danced to the heartbeat she couldn't hear. Molly flinched away from the sounds she felt in her chest. Her own blood stopped beating in her ears, yet it continued through her veins. Why couldn’t she hear, Mera felt herself asking.<em> Why can’t I hear anything? </em></p><p> </p><p>Green, button-eyes flicked past Mera’s shoulder, signalling something behind her and mouthing words Mera was deaf to. Fear sent jolts up her spine as she dropped the kid, spinning around as the noise came back.</p><p> </p><p><em> Giovanni </em>leapt toward her, a wordless scream on his tongue. His bat cracked across her face, shattering her jaw, fracturing across her nose. Mera felt more than a few teeth chip away. The force sent her flying, weightless in the air, before the cracking of concrete on her back stopped her flight, silencing aching nerves.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Mera was fragile, of course, but that didn’t mean that this was the end. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mera's eyes blinked, stinging with pain. A blue-suited person stood over her, bearing the Sweet Jazz City Police Department emblem on their chest. Great, the boys in blue were here. How wonderful.</p><p> </p><p>“Mera Salamin?”</p><p> </p><p>A pained, confirming grunt came from her throat as she shifted. The officer placed a steady hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. Mera coughed, something aching in her side. It could have been worse, Mera reminded herself. It always could be worse. She waltzed through the pain, glancing at the nametag the cop wore: Officer King.</p><p> </p><p>“Miss Salamin, I request that you do not move. I’m afraid after reviewing the museum’s security tapes, you will be placed under arrest for a variety of reasons.” Officer King said, fidgeting with her <em> real-ass goddamn sword. </em> She pulled Mera up after a minute, and steadied her as Mera adjusted, a pair of cuffs jingling from her wrists. Why were they so expensive looking? The plain metal ones would do the trick. Especially since she didn’t have an…</p><p> </p><p>Didn’t have?</p><p> </p><p>What didn’t she have?</p><p> </p><p>Mera looked over her outfit, picking at the hem as Officer King guided her away. Each step was painful, the shifting cloth brushing against bruises. The clothes were torn here and there, dotted with stains. They stepped down the stairs, the red and blue lights flashing, blinding her temporarily. Nothing offered her a clue as to what she didn’t have, other than the jolts of pain that shot up her legs. She wanted something to stop the pain, sure, but <em> why a long term solution? </em></p><p> </p><p>Mera looked around as Officer King handed her off, stepping away to talk to a tiny, button-eyed kid with stars in her hair.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That’s the long term solution. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She blinked, and for a moment, was completely puzzled by why she needed a kid for her pain. She wanted to stop the aches and pains, but why was the kid part of the plan? Did she have something Mera needed?</p><p> </p><p>She watched Molly talk to Sylvie, who laid on a stretcher, fixing his glasses. Something about the girl could have helped her, stopped her pain. Mera wouldn’t need to worry about the headaches she woke up with, or the bruises that were almost always on her body, if that girl had given up when Mera found her. It would have been <em> over </em>. One manicured hand and her life would have been cleared of medication. It would have been over if she had won. Mera blinked frustratedly, stressing the chains of the cuffs.</p><p> </p><p>It was over. She lost.</p><p> </p><p>Tears began building up as she ducked into the police car. Indus was inside, looking like a kicked puppy. Mera hardly acknowledged him, staring out the window, trying to remember what she so desperately fought for. A button-eyed girl popped into view, shyly raising her hand in a hello.</p><p> </p><p>How lucky, Mera thought. She’s come to taunt me.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want?” Mera muttered, inwardly crying at how weak her voice sounded.</p><p> </p><p>Molly shuffled for a second, looking back at the blonde officer. “I’m… sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you my Epithet. Really, I am.” Molly sighed. “I need it to deal with stuff at home for a while.”</p><p> </p><p><em> I don’t need your pity! </em> Mera almost shouted, a twinge of pain hitting her wrists where the handcuffs sat. <em> I needed the thing you had! Why </em> , she cried, <em> why do you need it? </em> She needed it so much more! The pain, the pills, the never ending cycle and the medical bills that flooded the mailbox. Mera needed whatever Molly had so much more, <em> why </em> couldn’t she <em> give </em> it to her?</p><p> </p><p>Molly reached out, her hands open-faced. Mera instinctively pushed herself into the back of the seat, turning away and pointedly staring at the ground, sulking. She didn’t need pity. She didn’t need whatever the girl had, Mera told herself as Molly’s hands pressed into her shoulder. It was over. She lost. She didn't need consolation.</p><p> </p><p>The poking of the cuffs gradually vanished. The rib in her side that Mera knew was fractured stopped aching, her ankle that howling from twisting itself was now mumbling. The acute migraine faded, receding until it was gone.</p><p> </p><p>Mera let out a sharp inhale, the tension leaving her shoulders as Molly took a step away from the car, moving her fingers back to settle on the straps of her bag. “I hope that makes your car ride a little nicer, at least. If you ever want me to help with that in the future, just ask! Y’know… once you get out of jail.” Molly exhaled shakily, the smile wavering for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>Mera huffed, and Indus nudged her, eyes expecting a sign of gratitude.</p><p> </p><p>“...Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>Molly nodded, and the officer from earlier stepped forward, patting the car roof before they sped off, bumping along the road.</p><p> </p><p>Mera leaned back, staring out the window. Her elbows didn’t ache from the positioning, her knees no longer protesting from being bent. Her spine never twinged and her head was clearer than it had ever been. The painful pings of sprains and the aching bruises she had from earlier were nonexistent. This is what it felt like? To not have her body screaming at her every step of the way?</p><p> </p><p>No discomfort. No pain. Just…</p><p> </p><p>Quiet.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time in a long time, Mera tilted her head back and cried, saltwater dripping down her cheeks. Not a cry of pain or anger, but one of happiness. Her breathing hitched every so often, but she didn’t mind.</p><p> </p><p>Not when she finally had what she wanted for so long.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>